


Where Love Resides

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 11:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: In which Sara is wise, John is oblivious, and Laszlo is…well, John eventually figures it out.





	Where Love Resides

**Author's Note:**

> I had a document of Laszlo/John snippets that were begging to be expanded upon. This is the fic they became.

“I’m afraid I cannot in good conscience accept your proposal, John Moore.”

John’s heart sank. This was not, of course, the first time he had been rebuffed by Miss Sara Howard, but he had thought that this time, perhaps, he stood a chance.

After everything that had happened, drawing them together in the most extreme of circumstances and affirming their friendship…why, he even had a ring!

_Kreizler’s ring._

“You still do not think me sincere?”

“Oh, I am in no doubt as to your sincerity.” Sara’s gentle smile was infuriating. “You do have affection for me, as I do you, but it is not the kind of love that exists between a man and wife. We would never truly satisfy each other in that regard.”

John opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a loss. He foundered for meaning in Sara’s words, but came up empty handed, could only wonder if he’d missed something important. Sara took pity on him.

“While we would undoubtedly make fine companions, I fear that in matters more…intimate, we could never truly fulfil each other.”

That stung a little. “You do not find me appealing?”

“Oh, John, I do not mean to imply…” Sara looked at least a little contrite at having dented his male pride. “Rest assured, you are a devilishly handsome man, but you see…therein lies the problem.”

John groaned. It was a familiar feeling, being unable to grasp the meaning behind someone else’s confounding words, and he did not much care for it. “Don’t you turn all cryptic on me too,” he pleaded. “I have to suffer enough of that with Kreizler.”

Sara sighed softly, remaining patient as one would with a slow child, stating it plainly now. “You are a man.”

Her meaning finally dawned on John, but for a moment he could only blink at her, certain he had misunderstood. “You mean to say…”

Sara smiled again, happy, beautiful. “I do.” Then the smile faltered a little, and she searched John’s face with some apprehension. “I hope you won’t think any less of me.”

“I never could,” John said truthfully. And any disappointment he felt was only for his own sorry predicament. “You are the most incredible woman it has ever been my pleasure to know. I wish you every happiness.”

“As I do you.” Sara’s eyes were kind and John did feel bereft at having been denied a more pivotal role in the happiness she would surely find. Not to mention embarrassed at having gotten it all so dreadfully wrong.

John twisted the ring box in his fingers, wondering if he could be justified in blaming Laszlo for this humiliation, for encouraging him when he should have left well alone. Damn the man to hell for interfering so carelessly in the lives of others.

Sara’s small hand on his stilled his fidgeting, curling his fingers around the small box until it was nestled securely in his palm.

“Learn to hear what your heart is truly saying, John. As I have learned to understand mine.”

It was another riddle, and John’s head was beginning to ache. Sara merely smiled, squeezed his hand, and gave him a peck on the cheek as she rose.

“Don’t worry. You'll work it out.”

John was left forlornly watching her retreating figure, thoroughly baffled and hopelessly adrift.

* * * *

“Something is bothering you, Moore.”

Laszlo’s gaze was still upon the journal he had been reading, but it was John who now held his attention.

John himself had long since given up on the pretence of reading, and had settled instead on watching the flames dance in the fireplace and cultivating an air of melancholy.

“Hmn.”

“Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

“Oh, I doubt that, Laszlo.”

Kreizler remained silent, waiting, and John damned him and his well-practised alienist techniques.

“Sara. She will not marry me.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” And he did at least sound genuine in his condolences.

“No, it’s the right decision,” John admitted, as much to himself as to Laszlo. “We would not be…” He waved a hand in the air, casting for an appropriate descriptor. “Compatible.”

Laszlo looked intrigued, but to his credit, just this once, he didn’t pry. John silently thanked him for allowing him and Sara their privacy in this particular matter, unsure how he would have even begun to explain.

“I suppose I should return your ring.”

Laszlo waved away the offer with a flick of his good hand. “Do not be so hasty, John.”

“Why not? You think there’s someone out there willing to suffer me as a husband?”

“Self pity does not become you.”

“And yet _you_ wear it so well.”

Laszlo sighed but, strangely, refused to lose patience even faced with such impudence. He was studying John openly now, those dark, thoughtful eyes watching closely, as if he were a patient. “Do you have plans tomorrow evening?”

The question was entirely unexpected, and John almost laughed at the absurd notion that he had made plans beyond wallowing in misery. He was so out of sorts that he hadn’t even considered a visit to his preferred girl. “I thought perhaps I would sit alone and become accustomed to life as a bachelor.”

“Then you shall join me at the opera.”

So certain was Laszlo of John’s agreement that John’s immediate thought was to decline, purely out of spite. But he found himself incapable of doing so.

“Sure, why not? An evening of torture would be somewhat appropriate.”

The small smile of amusement that Laszlo failed to hide went some way toward alleviating John’s dour mood.

* * * *

Laszlo looked immaculate.

He presented such a perfect image of the well attired, prepossessing gentleman that it was little wonder he attracted so much attention, and not all of it solely due to his renown. John, standing beside him, felt positively shabby in comparison, even though he was himself dressed in his best tie and tails.

Laszlo, however, diverted all attempts at drawing him away and into conversation in his typical brusque manner, and John thought it lucky he had such a brilliant mind, else the man would be completely devoid of friends.

Except John, of course. John always stayed. And if that made him a fool, so be it.

It was something of a relief to finally be seated in the privacy of Kreizler’s box and John could stop feeling like he was being silently judged. Goddamned society and its tedious conventions. Unfortunately, the alternative was an interminable opera that he had no intentions of attempting to follow and which managed to hold his attention for roughly ten minutes before he considered taking the opportunity for a nap.

Instead, he settled upon watching Laszlo. It was always a novel pleasure to see him so relaxed, his mind, for once, not madly racing along myriad complex paths, and enjoying the entertainment with a small smile curving his lips. John didn’t even realise they’d reached an intermission until loud applause burst out around them and Laszlo’s gaze met his.

Caught, John gave a start and belatedly joined in with the applause, hoping the blush that suddenly warmed his cheeks was obscured by the lights.

When the singing started up again to begin the next act, John kept his eyes resolutely on the stage, and if he felt the prickling sensation of Laszlo’s gaze on him, well. It was most likely his imagination.

* * * *

The opera was followed that night by dinner at Delmonico’s, which fast became a regular occurrence. Never more than three days passed without John receiving an invitation from Kreizler of some sort or another.

It was clearly an attempt by Laszlo to take John’s mind off Sara’s rejection, and was at least a preferable alternative to his grandmother’s insistence on introducing him to every eligible young lady in New York.

And if his spending so much time with the _peculiar_ fellow drove his grandmother to distraction, that only served to make it all the more enjoyable.

After a while, however, John began to feel he was being treated as something of a project, like a patient Laszlo was trying to _fix_. Did he really have so little faith in John that he believed without his intervention John would turn to the bottle and drown himself in his own despair? What made it all the more galling was just how much he had come to relish the time spent in Laszlo’s company, that he had come to anticipate each excursion with embarrassing eagerness.

Perhaps John _would_ become a drunkard, purely to annoy Laszlo.

And so it was with a heavy heart, and mounting indignation, that John climbed into Kreizler’s calash one evening and let Stevie ferry him to 283 East Seventeenth Street.

He couldn’t help but receive Laszlo’s warm greeting with some degree of suspicion, although it had always been infuriatingly impossible to tell what was going on behind those dark eyes. If Laszlo thought him unnecessarily rude, he didn’t mention it, ignoring his curt _good evening_ in favor of ushering him through to the dining room where a veritable feast was laid out across the table.

They sat to dine, but John’s appetite was spoiled by his warring emotions. Should he be honored to find himself the recipient of such a kind gesture, or vexed at being treated like one of Kreizler’s wards? He spent several minutes pushing the food around his plate and was not at all surprised that Laszlo noticed his distraction.

“The food does not agree with you, John?”

“What?” Was John imagining the look of disappointment in Laszlo’s eyes? “No, the food’s fine. Delicious.”

“Then perhaps it is the company.”

And maybe John had got it wrong, maybe this hadn’t all been solely for the benefit of his own happiness and continued sobriety. He thought back over their numerous outings: the opera, shared meals, that afternoon the previous week Laszlo had declared the weather to be perfect for a stroll and they had passed several hours wandering the park side by side with the sun warming their faces…

He hadn’t considered what Laszlo might have been gaining from it all.

“What is this, Laszlo?”

Laszlo stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Dinner.”

John was himself beginning to wonder just how much of an idiot he truly was. “Not just this, all of it! If you are acting out of some sense of pity, I can assure you I do not want it.”

Laszlo looked stricken, and it wasn’t often John could prompt such a reaction in the man. “No, that’s not it at all!” He set down his fork, ostensibly trying to determine where precisely he had erred. “I’m afraid I have not made myself plain, but I must confess I am not very good at all this sort of thing.”

“ _What_ sort of thing?” John wanted to shake the man in frustration.

Laszlo would not meet his gaze, and was that embarrassment that flickered briefly across his features? “I would excuse myself by saying that I am out of practise, but I have never really had much occasion to even _begin_ practising…”

“My God, Laszlo, must you always speak in riddles?” But John was beginning to piece the puzzle together, and the picture it presented was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. “If I were a woman, I might be forgiven for thinking you were… _courting_ me.”

Those hawk’s eyes were back on John, analyzing, assessing, and all the while remaining as infuriatingly inscrutable as ever. “But you are not a woman.”

John’s voice sounded thick, hoarse, even to his own ears as he asked, “Does that matter?”

“Not to me. But if it does to you, then we shall say no more about it.” Laszlo’s fingers toyed with the stem of his wine glass, the only indication of his apprehension, and it was always reassuring to see such signs that proved Laszlo was indeed just as human as the rest of them.

John reached out and covered the restless hand with his own.

“It doesn’t matter.”

For once, Laszlo was speechless. John would have enjoyed a moment of smug victory at having rendered him so, but he was too stunned by the wonder with which Laszlo was now regarding him.

Slowly, Laszlo turned his hand over and closed his fingers around John’s, the same look shining in his eyes as when he makes a revelatory discovery in his work. John recognized it well, but had never thought he’d see it directed at himself. It made his heart stutter behind his ribs.

Sliding his chair back from the table, Laszlo rose and took a step closer to John.

“If there is one thing I learned in the short time I was granted with Mary,” Laszlo used his grip on John’s hand to urge him to his feet as he spoke, “it is that one should not ignore what the heart is trying to say.”

John stood a little taller than Laszlo, but at that moment was entirely in his thrall, following his lead now just as he always did. “Sara said much the same thing to me.”

Laszlo’s lips twitched into a thoughtful smile and he released John’s hand in order to place his palm instead on his chest, directly over his heart.

“As you yourself are so fond of saying, John, love resides in the heart, does it not?”

John’s eyebrows shot skyward, but before he could explore that thought any further, Laszlo had taken the last half step separating them and was kissing him.

And John could think of nothing else.

Laszlo kissed with a tentative sort of curiosity, as if uncertain of the etiquette, the bristles of his beard providing a strange but not unpleasant friction, his lips soft and questing. John let him explore for a moment, before deciding that he had already wasted enough time failing to follow Sara’s advice.

Taking Laszlo’s face between his palms, he found them a more suitable angle, surprised when Laszlo immediately reacted, parting his lips and drawing John deeper. Laszlo’s left hand snaked up around the back of John’s neck as if to hold him in place, fingers teasing into the short hair there. His right found John’s hip, curling around it, and John was suddenly breathless, head whirling with emotion only just now awakened.

“Perhaps we ought to retire upstairs,” Laszlo suggested softly, eyes amused as he took in John’s no doubt stunned expression.

“Yes,” John managed in a croak that drew a smile from Laszlo, and then he was following Laszlo up the stairs in a dazed sort of drunkenness even though he was quite sober.

Safely enclosed in the privacy of Laszlo’s bedroom, John barely had time to catch his breath before Laszlo was kissing him once more with a fervor that proved a revelation. He had never thought Laszlo capable of such passion, had never considered him a sexual creature at all and perhaps, usually, that was the case. Now, however…

On this occasion, John was happy to be proven incorrect.

Laszlo’s hand went to John’s throat, fumbling at his collar until he’d worked it free, before setting about the buttons of his waistcoat. Unfortunately, with only the one good hand and a reluctance to part from John’s clutching embrace, it proved to be quite the struggle. Growing increasingly desperate to feel Laszlo’s touch on his heated skin, John’s fingers joined in the endeavor.

“May I assist?”

“Please, else I fear this may take me all night.”

With John’s help they made short work of divesting him of his waistcoat and shirt, discarding them carelessly on the floor, and then he was shivering beneath the palm that trailed up his ribs and over his breast, skimming along his collarbone only to be joined moments later by lips at the angle of his jaw and the tickle of beard against his throat.

It was glorious, being the sole focus of that brilliant, passionate mind as Laszlo surveyed and cataloged through touch and taste, but he wanted more, his own hands itching to reveal more of the man only now beginning to truly bare himself.

But as he began to loosen Laszlo’s clothing, tugging his tie free from its knot and beginning to unfasten what he considered far too many buttons, Laszlo went still, hesitating for the first time. John paused, dipped his head in search of the now infuriatingly averted gaze, so attuned to Laszlo in that moment that he knew instantly something was amiss.

“Laszlo?”

A short humorless laugh betrayed an uncharacteristic self-consciousness.

“I’m afraid I am not much to look at.”

John had seen Laszlo bare-chested before, but not for many years, not since their college days, and never like _this_. Even so, the idea that John would somehow find him repulsive was just absurd.

He took Laszlo’s chin between finger and thumb, gently turning his face back to him.

“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, Laszlo,” John said when the dark eyes eventually met his. “Nothing.”

He waited, for he wouldn’t insist. The decision would be Laszlo’s. And when Laszlo finally gave a nod, he grinned, profoundly honored at having been granted this rare intimacy.

Soon, Laszlo’s shirt had joined John’s on the floor, and John was distracting Laszlo with a kiss as he ran his hands over his shoulders and down each arm to capture his hands. He could feel the residual tension in Laszlo’s body, but didn’t give embarrassment the chance to settle in as he guided Laszlo to the bed and followed as he lay back until he was pressed along the length of his body.

It was immediately evident, as they came together, that Laszlo was in much the same state of arousal as John. An experimental thrust drew a quiet gasp from Laszlo that John determined to replicate as many times as he possibly could.

He drew back a little, but only so he could explore further, nosing his way down Laszlo’s throat and dipping his tongue into the hollow there. He tasted salt and heat and felt Laszlo’s breath catch, but he didn’t pause there for long, continuing down to his chest and lower still, following the trail of hair until it disappeared beneath the waist of Laszlo’s pants, muscles twitching at every touch of his lips or brush of breath.

Fingers toying with the trousers’ placket, John looked up to find himself fixed by a gaze darker than he had ever seen it.

“May I?”

Laszlo’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly before giving John a nod, tight and quick as if struggling to restrain himself.

John wanted nothing more than to watch him come apart.

Slowly, with hands surprisingly steady, John peeled back the remaining layers, allowing Laszlo’s cock to spring free from its confines and there could be absolutely no mistaking his desire.

A roguish smile was all the warning John gave before he bent and wrapped his lips around the head, and this time Laszlo’s gasp was something raw and needy.

It had been a long time since John had done this - not since before Julia, not for a man - but he nevertheless remembered exactly how to leave Laszlo squirming beneath him, drawing him to the edge before easing back and leaving him teetering, breathing a litany of curses through clenched teeth in what John recognized as German even if he couldn’t parse the meaning.

“ _John_ …”

From someone else it might have been a plea, but on Laszlo’s lips it sounded more like a command, and just as with every demand Laszlo made of him, John was powerless to refuse.

Hands and mouth working in earnest, employing every trick he knew, John sent Laszlo tumbling over the precipice, ignoring the rough tug at his hair he took to be a warning until Laszlo’s seed was pulsing thickly over his tongue.

He had never much cared for the taste, but in that moment it mattered little; he coaxed every last drop from Laszlo as the man went boneless beneath him. When Laszlo was fully spent, John moved back up the bed, and he knew he would remember the dazed yet euphoric look on Laszlo’s face for the remainder of his days.

As he recovered, the heaving of his chest gradually subsiding, Laszlo rolled his head on the pillow to look at John in a stunned sort of wonder, and when he smiled it was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen.

It was as John pressed closer to kiss him that Laszlo noticed he was still hard, his expression drawing into thoughtful contemplation. John waited, certain Laszlo would enlighten him shortly.

“You may have me, if you wish.”

John stared at Laszlo, wondering if he’d heard correctly, if Laszlo was honestly offering to…Those dark eyes looked absolutely serious, and Laszlo rarely said anything in jest, and the blood was pounding in John’s ears - what little of it wasn’t pulsing between his legs.

It was only when Laszlo dropped his gaze in embarrassment, protectively tucking his lame arm tighter to his body, that John realised he had been silent too long, that Laszlo had misunderstood his hesitation.

“You do not desire me in that way.”

John almost laughed. Had Laszlo forgotten what had only moments ago passed between them? Those had not been the actions of a man harboring no desire.

“God, Laszlo, of course I do!” He shook his head in wonder as he realized just how true that was. “You have no idea how much.” And, as if to prove it, he leaned over Laszlo, bracing his weight on his arms, and kissed him, long and deep. “But have you ever…?”

“No,” Laszlo answered simply. “But you have.”

This time John _did_ laugh, because it wasn’t a question, because _of course_ Laszlo would know that, damn him.

“And I trust you.”

John instantly sobered. Those few simple words didn’t sound nearly as grand as they should, not when they meant so much. Any response he might have made was trapped behind a heart that suddenly felt too big to be contained within his chest, and he only realized he had lapsed into silent awe when Laszlo cocked his head, studying him with curious bemusement.

Nodding quickly in case Laszlo should think he remained undecided, John burst back into action, rising so as to rid Laszlo of his boots and pants until he was laid out bare before him.

Willingly opening himself up to John in the most vulnerable yet intimate way possible.

It took a moment for John’s brain to turn to more practical matters, but as soon as it did he began to cast about the room, only then really taking in the neat and elegant private chambers.

“John?” There was a note of concern in Laszlo’s voice, and whether it was confusion over John’s sudden distraction or fear he had changed his mind John couldn’t tell, but he hastened to reassure him.

“We’ll need something to, uh, ease the way.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Laszlo was all efficiency as he indicated the dresser against the wall. “In there.”

A quick search produced a bottle of lubricant, a discovery that had John’s brows shooting up in surprise.

“You never cease to astonish me, Laszlo.”

“And while it pleases me to possess that power, perhaps you might marvel at my fortuitous foresight later.”

Laszlo’s obvious impatience would have been amusing had his advice not also been so apposite. Quickly shedding his own pants and drawers, John returned to the bed, settling between Laszlo’s legs and taking a moment to appreciate the sight before him with his artist’s eye. Laszlo could by no means be considered a classic beauty, and he possessed the build of an academic, but there was a raw masculinity to the line of his waist, the way the angle of his hips created sharp shadow, that John found exceptionally pleasing, and he quite lost himself for a moment. Until Laszlo nudged him with a knee, his glare effectively spurring John into action.

Coating his fingers with the slick oil, he directed his attention to where Laszlo clearly wanted it to be, fingertips ghosting slowly over heated flesh until they reached their goal. His free hand caressing Laszlo’s thigh, his stroking grew steadily firmer until he was pressing into the pliant body.

The sharp intake of breath gave him pause, but Laszlo looked perfectly serene - almost infuriatingly so - but there was a faint blush spreading across his chest that was a delight to witness.

Laszlo squirmed, urging him to continue. John complied, gradually adding another finger before stopping once again to give Laszlo chance to acclimatize to the intrusion.

Laszlo fairly growled. “I may be a cripple, but there is no need to proceed so delicately. Just get on with it!” It was almost a snarl, the words clipped, his frustration evident.

John scowled at him. Why must the man always insist upon neglecting his own well-being? “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“You won’t.” Spoken with such absolution conviction and trust that John’s heart leapt into his throat, triggering a swell of affection so strong it threatened to overwhelm him.

“I wish you wouldn't speak of yourself that way.” It came out a whisper, a heartfelt petition, and whatever Laszlo saw written on his face caused him to soften. Perhaps it was only in that moment, as John’s thumb gently stroked along the crease of his thigh, he accepted that someone could truly, unconditionally, love him. It pained John to think he might have doubted that even with Mary, and he swore Laszlo would never have cause to question it again.

Without warning, he crooked his fingers and Laszlo about leapt from the bed, his back arching and mouth falling open in a silent shout. John bent over him, buried his face in the crook of his neck, felt the rasp of Laszlo’s chin over his cheek as he worried at the skin of his throat, teeth grazing and tongue soothing, and while it wasn’t his intention to leave a mark, it was invigorating to think he could provide Laszlo with such a reminder.

Fingers tangled into his hair, flexing and scraping against his scalp in response to the curling of John’s own fingers, holding him in place, trembling now. Laszlo could no longer remain quiet, his low groans a vibration against John’s lips, and John could no longer ignore the building need coiling in the pit of his stomach. He pressed himself to Laszlo’s leg, sighing with the relief.

Laszlo shifted then, carefully pulling free and pushing to his knees, and before John could puzzle out what was happening, he was being pressed firmly down onto the mattress, taking up Laszlo’s former position. As Laszlo straddled him, however, he began to understand.

It seemed it was his turn now.

Laszlo touched him with curiosity at first, but he had always been an efficient student; using John’s reactions as his guide, he soon had him bucking up, hips restless in search of a pressure that Laszlo kept just out of reach. It was by design, however, and not solely an attempt to drive John to madness, as he was soon motioning for the bottle of lubricant, indicating that John should open it for him, his intentions obvious.

Liberally coating his palm, Laszlo proceeded to spread the oil along the length of John’s cock with a fist too loose and stokes too slow and John cursed him for a tease, a breathless plea falling from his lips.

“ _Please_ …”

To his credit, and John’s eternal gratitude, Laszlo finally grasped him more firmly, rising up on his knees and aligning their bodies, and John didn’t dare blink as he watched him sink back down, taking John inch by steady inch into his body.

When Laszlo was fully seated he fell still, drawing several steady breaths before his gaze swept up the length of John’s body and locked with John’s own wide-eyed stare, and John almost embarrassed himself when he saw the heat burning in those dark eyes.

Then Laszlo moved and John’s mind reeled, lurched, and crashed, his body lighting up, flaring bright, like a fire stoked. He clutched at the taut muscles of Laszlo’s thighs as they rocked together, his fingers likely leaving bruises, and Laszlo’s body clenched tightly around him in return.

Bracing himself on his good arm, palm splayed on John’s chest, Laszlo began to move with greater purpose, and John knew he couldn’t hold himself back much longer. The rhythmic drag of flesh on flesh, the tight clenching of muscles around him, and the sight of Laszlo above him with his eyes tight shut and his lips parted all conspired to draw him inexorably to his peak, and with a shout he surged up to meet Laszlo, spilling deep into his body.

As his cry echoed around the room, John belatedly hoped Cyrus and Stevie were well out of earshot, but truth be told, in that moment he didn’t much care if the whole city heard.

He slowly became aware of hands stroking along his flanks, gently easing him back to the there and then. Laszlo was looking down at him with a smile of fond amusement, and John felt his own grin grow wide.

As reluctant as both men were to part, the need to move soon arose. John winced in sympathy as Laszlo eased from his lap with a grimace, but he seemed unconcerned by his discomfort as he fetched a handkerchief to wipe them both clean. He was putting out the lights when John caught him by the wrist and tugged him back to bed. Laszlo went willingly, settling on John’s right so as to lie on his side facing him while leaving his bad arm free.

Now in almost full darkness, John could only vaguely make out the features of Laszlo’s face as the man gazed down on him, propped up on his elbow. But he didn’t need to see to be able to kiss Laszlo when he leaned in, mouths coming together by instinct alone, to feel the hand that came to rest upon his chest, thumb stroking a slow arc across his skin, to recognize how truly content Laszlo was by the untroubled way he reached out to John with his damaged arm.

He had laid bare his perceived weaknesses - both physical and emotional - and allowed John to banish them, forging the beginnings of something stronger in their place, a force that John vowed to fortify every way he knew how.

Placing his own a hand atop Laszlo’s, he tangled their fingers together and clutched it to his heart as Laszlo nestled his head beside John’s on the pillow, their bodies relaxing together as sleep drifted down upon them.

But despite the beckoning of a well-earned slumber, John’s mind kept returning to their earlier conversation, refusing to abandon its search for the meaning behind Laszlo’s words. The alienist rarely allowed his true feelings to show, so one had to look deeper, beneath the surface.

“Laszlo?”

“Hmn?”

“What you said earlier, about love?”

“I believe I was merely restating what it is _you_ say about love.”

“Then you admit I’m right?”

Laszlo’s response came grudgingly. “It may well prove to be the only occasion I have cause to do so.”

John laughed, happy enough to allow Laszlo the dig. “Then allow me to bask in my victory a while longer.”

He felt the soft chuckle ghost across his shoulder, but Laszlo remained quiet, granting John his moment. But it was, in truth, so much more than that, and in the still silence they could both enjoy the simple pleasure of each other’s company, their joined hands saying far more than words ever could.

There was, however, one thing that John simply could not leave unsaid.

“Laszlo?”

“Hmn?”

“I love you, too.”

He could almost feel Laszlo’s gaze boring into him, hear him thinking over the statement and settling upon an appropriate reaction. John didn’t expect him to echo the words, not so plainly.

He didn’t have to.

“Go to sleep, John,” Laszlo eventually muttered around an exasperated sigh.

But, even hidden as it was in the darkness, John could hear the smile in his voice.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure I had quite meant for _that_ to happen...


End file.
